Alpha Enzo
Enzo was a thousand little fantasies of mine, each one more perfect, more dreamlike, than the last: the damp curls sticking to his temples; the firm muscle of his chest and abs and shoulders; the scrape of his stubble, the pleasure-pain of his bites…
My fingers darted to the buttons on his shirt. I rocked my hips against him as I worked, deftly undoing them, trailing my fingertips down each new inch of tanned skin I exposed. Dark ink streaked across his chest and, as I shoved his shirt off entirely, it took shape. The outline of it was a wolf, its head thrown back in a howl, but its body was made up of mountains and evergreen trees. More whorls of shadow and ink surrounded it in an abstract
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